


Sizzle, crack, holler and burn

by fish_wifey



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Caring Washio, Dating, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Holding Hands, M/M, Public Sex, Slice of Life, cute dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-02-28 05:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13265148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fish_wifey/pseuds/fish_wifey
Summary: "Hey, what are you writing about?”“You know what.”“That stuff just now was different, and you didn’t want me to read it!” Akinori half laughs as the lips brushing his earlobedothings to him, and he also feels nervous. He had just come across something secret, and he needed to know more about it.There are still so many things Akinori doesn't know and wants to find out.And there's still so many things Tatsuki is able to give him.This is the part in their love story were things move from mild to more interesting, when their loves burns hotter and hotter.





	1. Love

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea of washikono hanging out during lunch break and Washio the beast working on his fitness~ first i didn't know if I wanted this to be pre-slash or not but I was also working on a getting together fic in another file, so I went with JUST established relationship~
> 
> I really have a thing for making these cool guys get all flustered :D
> 
> The original working title I had was inspired by a couple of songs; I'm now using them instead as chapter titles .v.

His parents had always warned Akinori about looking directly into the sunlight. People used to say he had this constant squinty look in his eye that made him seem like he was planning something all the time. Burning his retinas by peering at the sun seems like the perfect idea, though. Akinori prefers it this way, listening to the cheery voices of his schoolmates. Most of the third years tended to start ditching their stuffy classrooms whenever summer was about to start.

Instead of staying within the classrooms whose windows didn’t do much for carrying in breezes, they had gone to the rooftop in masses of people. The bleachers were full of high schoolers having their lunches, folded jackets, bentos being shared, and stories being told carry past the bleachers to the shade where Akinori sits with Washio. Their own bentos had long been emptied, and they share a comfortable silence when Akinori cranes his neck to look at the bright orb. 

“Ah, ouch.” The sunlight annoys his eyes too much and he has to close his eyes, however.

“You shouldn’t look too long into the sun, Konoha.”

Akinori leans back on his arms, neck still outstretched, enjoying the colder breeze which only carries to this high place. Watching the sun, listening to his classmates… all is better than watching Washio, or listening to the soft grunts he makes. Curiosity gets the better of him, of course. Akinori tilts his head to the right. Washio’s jacket is right beside him, while his teammate-turned-boyfriend lifts himself up to the second highest bleacher. His hands hold onto the same white bench, his legs are behind him, and Washio lifts himself up, making his muscles work under the pristine white shirt he’s wearing.

Although Washio has his back to him, he sorta knows him well enough. Akinori laughs, rubbing his neck, waiting for his love to be done with his short work out and join him for the remainder of their lunchtime. As if he can read minds, Washio’s hands let go of the bleachers, and he drops down easily enough, huffing.

They chose the shade beside the bleachers; it’s on the other side of the rooftop entrance, the furthest away from the baseball practice field everyone likes to watch. It offers a privacy out in the open, where no one sees when Washio sits a little too close to Akinori, their knees touching. Behind them is the diamond-mesh fence, high trees of which lush green coverage creating a barrier between them and the people walking down below. No one on top of the bleachers is observant enough to see them, either.

For a few, blissful moments, Akinori can close his eyes and let his head drop onto Washio’s hard angled shoulder. Maybe it’s love and the rose-coloured way he sees everything, but Washio’s sweat has an addictive smell. It doesn’t stink at all, and has a mesmerizing, animalistic lure which Akinori keeps being attracted to. It doesn’t make his stomach ache or his heart race like the first time he figured out that Washio’s smell during practice was a pleasurable one. Before confessions and kisses under drenched roof tops had happened.

Akinori’s eyes snap open when he hears Washio’s pen scratch across paper. Glancing down, he sees a small black notebook; its strap dangling loose. One page is already full. It dictates dates, times, workouts, and training schedules. Akinori didn’t often have the chance to take a look at it, but from what he knows, Washio keeps track of all the things he does to keep his body fit. Every so often, he’d write down recipes or measurements for protein drinks.

“Comfortable?” Washio mutters against Akinori hair; it's the softest brush of air coming from his mouth, carrying a lot more heat than the colder breeze earlier at Akinori’s neck. The urge to kiss him is constantly present, which is strongest in times like this. No one is below the bleachers; a darkness calling to do all sorts of things best done unseen. One of these days, Akinori would lead Washio down there, strip him, do stuff they can’t usually do, or can’t find the time and place for. Without letting his mind become dirty enough to form a problem in his slacks, he remembers to reply to Washio’s question.

“Very.” He answers, looking down once more, at the one hand holding the notebook, thumb keeping the page Washio just wrote on flat. From the other side, a breeze goes through the paper, flipping pages on its own tricksy accord. Akinori could listen to the rustle and close his eyes, or distract Washio by following those earlier urges and kiss him. He feels warm and reckless enough not to care, until his eye catches on different lines below a certain page.

“Hold up.” Smiling, he takes Washio’s notebook. There’s numbers and simple writing, and some work out goals that Akinori finds adorable. But the thing he saw looked more like art. Next to him, Washio’s protest is minimal, and non-verbal; it comes in a sigh, his back straightening out of its comfortable position. He’s alert, Akinori’s notices, and his eyes sharpen as if he’s looking for a block. Grinning wider, Akinori leafs through the notebook, going backwards a few pages, until he finds the lines he saw.

Something in his chest tightens, and he makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat. The lines turn out to be a sketch of his face, a pretty neat drawing. On one page he looks normal, on the one beside it he’s laughing. They look like candid shots taken while he was in the midst of people, who are absent in the drawing.

Akinori gives Washio a wide, happy smile. “I didn’t know that you can draw!”

“I can’t. It’s nothing…”

“Mhnn, you draw people a lot?” He doesn’t mind being captured on paper like this. It’s actually pretty sweet. Akinori wonders if Washio likes to draw random sketches like this of people, and he flips a few more pages. He’d never known Washio did drawings anyway. His school notes are always neat pieces of work, easily borrowed.

“Uh, not really.” Washio mumbles, moving closer to Akinori, whose curiosity rises as he looks through the notebook. He sees match counts, and notes of when the Japanese volleyball men’s team has matches. There’s also some proud notations about Washio’s favourite team, F.C. Tokyo’s winning results and which player had made the most points (a separate field for block outs, typical).

Before, he thought Washio merely kept meticulous count of his workouts, the weight and amount of lifts he does, what went good or bad on the days, all sorts of information about his runs. What he didn’t know is what Akinori’s eyes glance over now.

There’s drawings of animals, trees, and places between many of these meticulous accounts. There’s a small page holding information about cafes, some crossed out, some marked with a question mark ‘good?’ and price ranges ‘too expensive, average, cheap but bad atmosphere’. One café received a good review and had a note of ‘nice seating & hidden corners’. Some even have a small icon, which Akinori recognizes is supposed to be Komi. The kanji for recommendation is right beside it. Akinori stores the information for a later time, not yet knowing who he should ask about these. Komi has been a terrible tease; Washio had been the libero’s best friends for years, and Akinori and Komi had been on teasing terms from the start. Their relationship brought Komi much joy, and gave him much ammunition for lewd jokes.

The next page is a sketchy spread of a typical Tokyo-ish sidewalk, with a bit of grass overgrowth. There’s a single flower, a wall behind it, and a butterfly. The wall is rather sketchy and not too detailed, but the wings of the butterfly are intricate. Akinori recognizes the wall; it’s near to where he lives. He and Washio had agreed to go to school together once. It was a detour for Washio, and Akinori only allowed him to cause this inconvenience once. This must have been drawn while Washio was waiting for him.

“You’re quite observant huh.” Akinori states, his finger about to flip to something interesting. There’s a page full of writing, diary-like. His eyes zoom in on the top right side, where he sees the date of a day from over a month ago. A time where he wasn’t with Washio, when they were just teammates, friends, close enough to have interest but not much more on that point.

Before Akinori can read a single kanji about those days though, Washio’s arm is around his middle, and the other hand snatches the notebook out of Akinori’s loose grip.

“I like to take note of interesting things, I guess.” Washio breathes down on Akinori’s ear, who doesn’t fall for the diversion of lips so close to one of his weak spots. Brows furrow above eyes which do not lose track of where the notebook, now out of reach, is being held. He tries to go after it, but Washio’s having none of it; his grip tightens, the big hand covering Akinori’s side a restraint not yielding to Akinori’s moving will. Washio looks down at him as if he’s just another butterfly on a grassy sidewalk. “You’re not ticklish?”

“Huh?” Akinori’s thoughts get side-tracked for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. Not at my ribcage, anyway. Hey, what are you writing about?”

“You know what.”

“That stuff just now was different, and you didn’t want me to read it!” Akinori half laughs as the lips brushing his earlobe _do_ things to him, and he also feels nervous. He had just come across something secret, and he needed to know more about it. Washio could be a closed person if you didn’t know him, having quirks only his teammates and friends could read. It was natural for the one labelling himself as ‘boyfriend’ to have a privilege of knowing as much as there is.

“C’mon, what is it about, at least tell m- mhmph!”

In a split second, Akinori’s sentence got cut off by the dirtiest trick in the book. Lips rough from being kissed too much yesterday after practice crush on Akinori’s, teeth asking permission of him to open up his mouth.

This is a diversion Akinori can fall for. The heat in his stomach makes him half turn into the restraining embrace. His own arm responds to it; it moves and loops around Washio’s head and keeps him close, deepening the kiss as Akinori’s tongue lavishes past Washio’s lips. Tongues wipe past each other in such sweet, wet delicious ways that Akinori smiles into the warm make out session they’re trapped in. They stay like this for a few minutes, not making any sound too loud or any unnecessary movements. Akinori caresses Washio’s neck, his other hand patient on the other’s knee. Washio still has his arm around him, his hand stroking the side.

It isn’t heavy. Akinori doesn’t like the playfulness with which some of his classmates would touch his stomach after eating. But the comfort Washio brings carries a satisfying touch then being full of good food. Washio’s arm isn’t heavy like this, and the comfort levels only rise.

When Washio stops the kiss, Akinori is too dizzy from it to even be mad. He sees a black notebook vanish in Washio’s bag though, and a plan of attack forms in his head. Of course there can be secrets and things unsaid between them, yet Akinori has a feeling that this is something he should pursue, no matter what. He has to be smart about this, sneaky even. Distraction techniques such as Washio just used might come in handy as well. He could employ Bokuto, who would do things without needing too much information or even any incentive.

“Dessert?” Washio asks, holding out his hand to help Akinori up to stand next to him. They fix their clothes where needed, Washio picking up both their jackets and carrying them on one arm, his hand in his trouser pockets. Akinori, semi-breathless, picks up their bentos and puts them back into their respective wrapping. His stomach burns with want.

Akinori grins towards Washio as he holds the two bentos, nodding his agreement.

“I just had some but, sure.” Akinori comments, delight spreading towards his smile more and more when he sees Washio’s ears tint red.

 

*

 

*

 

*

 

Later that day they’re inside Washio’s room. Akinori looks around it for a bit. He’s perched on Washio’s hard, flexing stomach, which shakes beneath his ass. At the same time, Washio sits up, looks at him for a second, then falls back to the floor. The hands interlocked behind his head and the elbows sticking out never touch the matts beneath him however. Washio swears that for intense crunches, you’re not supposed to let your shoulders go all the way down.

Akinori can’t be faulted for hardly listening to a word he’s saying. If you could call the low grunts words at all. They become hot breaths on his skin, exhaled whenever Washio comes up once more. Glancing at him each and every time he doesn’t, Akinori feels weird to watch him too long, although it’s hard to keep his eyes away from the strength blasting against his body. When Washio went into his room, he changed out of his school uniform into grey sweatpants and a black tank top. The shirt showed off Washio’s arms, and Akinori forgot to change into more comfortable clothes watching the biceps tense.

It had been his own idea to sit on the stomach and tell Washio to ‘flex’. He was supposed to keep the stomach hard during these exercises after all, and Akinori quite felt like the helpful boyfriend assisting in his lover’s wish to stay muscular. All the more eye candy for Akinori, whose eyes do not go wanting for attractiveness. Hell, even the drops of sweat running down from Washio’s temple are sexy. Washio’s face looks warm, the entirety of it coloured in a darker shade. Before, and definitely with other guys, Akinori always found it hilarious when their faces turned red and ridiculous, sweaty and hard-breathing.

With Washio he can’t help but be turned on to a degree that’s downright nonsensical. These are just sit ups, he has to tell himself. Washio is doing what he always does. But now that they’re together and Akinori feels like he has the supreme right to do whatever he wants and watch as much as he likes. Being with Washio during these exercises tends to make his body misbehave.

Such as shutting off his hearing system.

“Konoha.”

“Huh, yes?” Akinori looks to the face an inch away from his. Small puffs of air come from the straight nose, tickling Akinori’s bottom lip in a way that invites a kiss. It’s what Akinori does, too. A small peck to the thin lips, nothing that indicates more of Akinori’s apparent desire lashing out inside his chest to prolong, to pursue, to taste. It’s the type of kiss Washio gives him at least three times a day; behind the bike stands, in the club room when everyone has left, after practice when he walks out of his way to share a road to Akinori’s bus stop.

The last few times, both their hands had begun to wander.

Akinori’s eyes blink in sync with Washio, whose hands have dropped away from their position behind his head. They travel to Akinori’s hands, which are resting behind him, on top of Washio’s thighs. Washio bites his bottom lip, carrying a stare that brings Akinori to another feverish place; being the one lying on his back, legs up, Washio in-between. It’s the same questioning stare, asking for permission, for reason, for understanding.

Washio’s hands aren’t cold, though. They’re not nervous like they were at their first time when they held hands, or unsure what to do when he gave Akinori a blowjob. The touch is deliberate, needing to feel Akinori’s pulse, go over his under arms. Thumbs tickle the soft insides of the elbows, bringing them closer to him. Akinori lets his arms be maneuvered. It must be tough to stay upright like this for some time, Akinori guesses, so he repeats his earlier question to have Washio go back to his business (and not be bothered by Akinori’s growing problems).

“Uh, so, yeah what’s up?”

“...I said, my mother asked if you wanted to stay for dinner.”

“Sure, why not.” Akinori smiles, completely ignoring the fact that Washio stares at him. It’s nagging at his conscious, making him wonder if the kiss was something too weird and out of the blue. Better distract him further and let them stay on this domestic course. Akinori’s hands playfully tap is own thighs, pressed double against his lower legs. “When’s dinner?”

The look Washio gives him, the warmth of his lower arms near Akinori’s knuckles, the stilled breath; it has Akinori suspecting the tiniest of pecks he just gave said more about his inner state of being than what he would have liked. The stare also carries an intention as if _Akinori_ would make for a perfect dinner. It differs slightly from the ‘I will get you’ look Washio gives good attackers during a game, and some people wouldn’t be able to see a distinction between that, this, and the resting face Washio makes, a look that brings people into a nervous state.

Akinori isn’t just ‘people’, but he is nervous.

“Are you spacing out, Washio?”

“Weren’t you earlier, too? You didn’t respond until I stopped and said your name.” Washio’s eyes drop to Akinori’s lips; he had been unbearably close when he said his name, too. Akinori plays it off.

“Huh, really, ahaha, no idea!” Akinori lets his gaze wander to the room at large again, which screams Washio at every corner. There’s posters of famous middle blockers, as well as a framed newspaper article of Endres Gustavo, one of middle blockers of Brazil’s national team. One corner has stacks of dumbbells and a 6kg medicine ball Akinori can’t do anything with but stand on for balance. A clear file stands against the wall, holding papers Akinori (through his curious searches of Washio’s room) knows to be parts of the exercises Washio dedicates himself to.

Looking away and trying to ignore the issue at hand isn’t what will make it go away, however. At least Washio seems to have no intention of letting it drop and fade away. When his words don’t get through to Akinori, his hands join in the action. Rough fingertips trail the outside bones of Akinori’s hands, and his pinky fingers trace the veins below. It’s the softest touch one could imagine, and instead of it tickling, Akinori’s feels his skin burning up under the caress. He knows Washio is watching him, as the intense eyes have the audacity to bore into one’s consciousness. The fingers become more present, stroking all the way beneath Akinori’s elbow.

“You know, my stomach is supposed to be hard doing these crunches. Not a body part of yours.”

Snapping his head back fast enough to have ash blond hair over his eyes doesn’t block Akinori’s vision enough to see the grin formed on Washio’s face. Clicking his tongue, Akinori looks down between them, not eyeing his bulge in the least. Instead, he finds his hands pooled onto Washio’s abs, wondering where the strength to stay seated like this comes from. Searching for the source, Akinori uncurls his hands, letting his fingers splay and move up and over Washio’s chest. His shirt is warm, not too moist, but wet enough for the evidence of hard work to be shown and felt. Once more, Akinori doesn’t feel disgusted by a sweaty Washio.

Instead he’s pulled further into the mess that his arousal is becoming. His head collides softly with Washio’s forehead, who hasn’t moved an inch since he said Akinori’s name. It’s only Akinori here whose weakness is showing true. Washio doesn’t show any signs that the problem sitting on top of his body would be unwanted or wrong in the least, which just feeds Akinori’s fire more and more. Indulging into the chance this mishap occurrence brings, he lets his hands hold more weight, showing more want when they reach Washio’s shoulders in a tight grip. Akinori’s face is still close to the unmoving carving of marble staring back. Only the lips beneath Akinori’s hint at any sign of mutual need. They’re warm and searching, reaching out the smallest to touch Akinori’s mouth a little more.

“I wanna do it,” Akinori breathes out, one hand caressing over Washio’s neck. The sweat there does nothing but light up the heat in Akinori’s gut, as if this sort of Washio breathes out pheromones that work like a siren call. The more Akinori smells and feels it, the more he wants it. To intensify its power, watch pearls of sweat run down every visible moving muscle.

“My mother will be home in 20 minutes, and dinner would be served a half hour after that.”

“I really want to do it, Washio.” Akinori repeats, as if his first attempt wasn’t plea-sounding enough. Pulling out all stops, Akinori kisses the mouth, pulls at Washio’s bottom lip and bites on it to make his intentions as clear as possible. Akinori hopes that his poor seducing techniques would create the same urge in Washio that is raging inside himself. He had no such intentions when he decided to sit on top of his stomach earlier, although the closeness and light touches had enchanted him, making his smile all the more gleeful. Akinori doesn’t smile now when he looks at Washio, and he also doesn’t move his ass or right on top of Washio’s crotch. If Washio says no-

The sigh is deep and hot, lingering for the shortest second on Akinori’s skin before the mouth of his lover captures his own. Washio’s hands drop down from his elbows, and the fingers form around Akinori’s ass, lifting it up only to press it further down. Given permission this way, Akinori closes his eyes and lets his hands roam wild, scratching at Washio’s neck, without his fingers messing up the back of his hair. He doesn’t care if his knees feel weird from straddling Washio like this the entire time, and moves his hips to have their most intimate places line up and rub together.

At last, Washio’s body moves. It’s all at once, and Akinori feels every wave of heat wafting from the neediness. Washio’s legs reposition to let him sit up in a comfortable position. He ravishes Akinori’s mouth, and the low moans coming from him have Akinori’s hips circling, to make the grind between his ass and Washio’s forming bulge even more sound-eliciting.

“Konoha, we should move.”

“Mhn, sure.” It’s what Akinori agrees to, but can’t make his body follow the concept behind it. He’s too busy kissing Washio and rubbing himself down on this boy who contains most of his own wildness in his strong arms. Indecisive, Washio’s hands run around between Akinori’s shoulders and lower back, alternating between flat touches on the spine and holding Akinori’s arms. The smile on Akinori’s lips stems from this rather erratic behaviour, and it shines through when he speaks as well.

“Can’t move, too preoccupied. Need your help.” He opens his eyes to look at Washio. Sometimes he wonders if Washio closes his eyes right after him and opens them right before Akinori does, or if he just kisses with his eyes open all the time. Akinori has failed to check the theory. And right now, there’s all sorts of other, dirtier things on his mind. His fingernails partly dig into Washio’s sleeveless tank top and partly into the hard rounded shoulders. “God, I want you so damn much.”

Washio’s forehead slides over Akinori’s chin, and a huff travels between them. “Konoha, you shouldn’t say such things…”

Akinori’s wide smile splits his face and he lets out a satisfied chuckle, while his hands move over the neck once more, ending up cupping below Washio’s jawline to make the carved marble-hard face look up again. Akinori calms his own face down, and he becomes more serious and leaves all sorts of teasing out of his next words.

“When we’re like this,” he says, his eyes half blind from the lust, yet still keeping the contact alive. “Why don’t you try calling me by my given name?”

He knows they haven’t been together for more than a few weeks, but they’ve known each other personally for years. The switch shouldn’t be this hard to make. Then again, he hasn’t gone for calling Washio by his given name either, which was of course the next thing Washio pointed out to him.

“And you’ll call me ‘Tatsuki’, then?”

“If you give it your all, maaaybe I’ll think about ‘Tattsun’.” Akinori laughs again, leaning forward. Washio doesn’t do much more than not blink, thinking his answer over before giving Akinori the final blow.

“When it’s about you, I always give everything I have.” Washio says, then holds Akinori tight with one arm. While Akinori sputters and hides his head half-laughing, half-shocked, in the crook of Washio’s neck, the latter stands up.

In a strong, graceful move, he stands so quick as to not give Akinori a chance to let his feet hit the ground. They’re much safer right now where they are anyway, tightly wrapped around Washio’s lower back. It is so steady that Akinori doesn’t feel a bit of fright or has him wondering if he should get off soon. Akinori likes Washio’s strength, and doesn’t feel shy to comment on it.

“Mhnn, so powerful.” Akinori whisper-laughs against the jaw and the cheek, kissing one half of Washio’s face and holding the other side. He would love to mess up the cool style of the cut, and has dreamed of gripping the strands hard when he goes to kiss Washio’s ears. “I also liked what you did last week… holding me up with one arm only. It’s really sexy.”

While Washio moves them through the room, Akinori feels conscious of how he’s avoiding saying his first name. After all that bravado and his desire out in the open, he can’t make himself say it out loud just yet. Instead, he talks to Washio in a way he knows can make a difference in how intense the sex will be. Not that there’s much room to work with from the beginning. There’s a ‘lovely’ setting, smooth and warm and lazy. Then there’s intense, and super intense mode, both bruising and relentless. The only difference to the latter comes when Washio is driven so far over the edge to hold Akinori’s arms down and bite his neck.

Akinori’s hands rub over the biceps on both arms, letting his back be rammed against the wall behind him. He looks up to Washio, who has him suspended in air by using his thighs and one arm for support. Washio’s slightly tilted to the side and down, reaching for a bottle of ‘helpful stuff’ as Akinori has dubbed it after their second time. Washio had bought it for their first time as well, but so many things had happened that by the time a cold lubricant was rubbed over and into Akinori’s ass, he was far beyond any worldly sense to know what was happening.

“Say, do I even weight anything to you?”

“No, it’s like holding a couple of volleyballs.” Washio smiles, uncapping the lubricant and setting it aside for later use. Akinori laughs into the kiss the same way Washio does, while they undo each other’s clothes piece by piece.

Washio’s mother won’t come in here, so they have enough time for at least the wall, the bed, and if Akinori has any say in the matter, back to where they started on the floor.


	2. A 100 degrees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Konoha doesn't see himself as high maintenance, but Washio's hair routines really take too long. Although he has high standards, he didn't expect a date like this.

Akinori crosses his arms, his impatient foot tapping indicating how done he is with Washio’s shit. He decides here and now that today is the day he stops to accept the other’s lateness. For the umpteenth time he is left waiting for the other to come around. The agreed time has long passed, Akinori’s eyes keep scouting the distance in search of a tall figure, who would look not stressed in the least. He’s been waiting at a bike-shed close to school, which isn’t used by students on a Sunday, but where they’d often meet before going elsewhere. It was a great place to hide behind and make out, as well, either as form of greeting, or as a goodbye. 

Depending on Washio’s appearance alone, no one could think of the amount of disarrayed things that happen in Washio’s life, which tend to bring disarray into Akinori’s life as well. To Washio, time was just a concept, and no hard rules would abide to simple numbers. Although he’d never come late for class or practice, somehow making it on time to dates seemed to approach a level of difficulty not yet mastered.

The stoic man’s room wasn’t messy, Akinori knows for a fact. So it can’t be that Washio simply can’t find things in his room, or has to sort out clean clothing from a pile of dirty laundry. His room is tidy, and everything has an orderly and logical place. Akinori scratches it off a list in his head of things that would keep him.

Thinking of Washio’s room, Akinori tries to conjure it up in his head and search for things that may be troublesome. He doesn’t have to think long; the only other thing which is always neat, is Washio’s hair. There’s never a hair out of line. Fuming, Akinori wonders if fixing that hairstyle is what makes Washio late. It doesn’t quite fit because his hairstyle is the same every day, and he’s never late for other stuff. Nonetheless, the thought that Washio might preen and prime extra careful for Akinori’s sake settles in, and when the hair is the first thing Akinori sees approaching, it’s what he puts his mind to. His brows furrow when Washio nods his head from afar in recognition.

All the time it takes Washio to reach the bike-shed, Akinori gives the hairstyle which is perfect as usual, a withering look. He ignores the ‘hello’ directed at his person, and fails to move away when Washio leans in. Even when Washio arrives late, he kisses Akinori’s forehead, not in apology, but as a mere greeting. As such, his acting of nonchalance would set Akinori’s edge further to a problem zone, as the total disregard for ‘lateness’ would be gone in the wind as soon as they were together.

While before, Akinori thought of pushing that square face out of his personal space, he reacts too late to do so now that he thinks he’s found a culprit of Washio’s inability to show up at an agreed time. Akinori’s hand shoots up to touch the hair, about to ask Washio if this is what keeps him from being on time. His wrist is being caught in an iron grip, however. Washio leans back to protect today’s waxed masterpiece. The already small eyes squint at Akinori, as if he’s giving him a warning. 

A quick mental note gets added to the rest Akinori has gathered so far of what he can and can’t do to his teammates. Hair jokes can be directed to Bokuto and Washio, but not to Komi. Ruffling Komi’s hair however is fine, while Bokuto would sulk, and apparently, Washio’s hair is off-limits. Maybe he thought Akinori wanted to mess it up (which was actually no bad idea at all at this point. Boyfriend has to learn), but he merely wanted to pull it down and ask ‘is this what’s keeping you!?’

“You’re late!”

“I am sorry.”

“...! Keep your excuses. Is it the hair? It can’t be.”

“I wasn’t watching the time when I styled it. I am sorry, Aki.”

“You,” Akinori starts, then stops. He blinks, thinking he’s heard it wrong. But it’s summer, not autumn, which they call ‘aki’, too. It’s the kanji in his name, after all. Akinori cannot stammer anything else besides a common, “Uh.”

“First names. I thought we agreed after last time.” Last time meaning that idiotic, messy, hectic session of fast and rough sex they had in Washio’s room. It had been a good thing Akinori was invited for dinner, because he’d been starving after. It had been his idea, alright, but he couldn’t have possibly foresee the bitemarks and bruises he’d gather from the intimate moment. The thoughts, together with Washio calling him by his given name, had a redness brighter and more burning than at their first love confession return to Akinori’s face.

“I am-” Washio pronounces, his body and head suddenly so close to Akinori that he holds his breath. “-really sorry to have making you wait. Are we late for anything you’ve planned?”

“N- no not really. And anyway, it was your date, remember? It’s your turn to…” Akinori manages to stammer out, unsure if he should step back or move closer to Washio. His neck starts to hurt looking up at this point, though.

“You’re right.” Washio blinks, once, then turns to his shoulder back to get his notebook. It gives Akinori time to breathe and to relax. He watches Washio’s deft and able hands find his black book full of known work out modules, drawings, and other yet uncovered secrets.

“I sometimes am.” Akinori laughs, letting his eyes look over Washio’s arms covered to the elbows in a light blue jeans shirt. He always looks stylish and pleasing to Akinori’s eyes.

“Yes, I know where to go.” Washio nods to himself, then closes the notebook, putting the elastic band back over the front cover. He holds out his hand toward Akinori, who stares at it.

And stares.

And stares until Washio grabs his hand.

“I also decided we can hold hands today.”

“In the city,” Akinori states, without question. He doesn’t know where Washio will take him, but he thought it might be Shibuya or Shinjuku. Like the last few times. Akinori didn’t question Washio’s ‘decision’ or the possibilities where they ‘can’ and ‘cannot’ hold hands in public.

“No, we’re not going there today.” Washio smiles, a feature looking too good, too smug on him. Akinori blinks, at the joined hands, and the stylish figure in front of him. He should have asked Komi about all those ‘recommendations’. He should have made Bokuto form a distraction to Washio and others long enough to look into that blasted notebook.

“Will you tell me if I ask?” Akinori asks, sounding unsure. He waits for Washio to move, or to answer, or to elaborate. At least he’s being pulled into a direction. They start walking away from school, towards the street.

“Yes, I would. It might be more fun if you don’t know, though.” Washio says, his good mood rising now that Akinori’s anger at his lateness has subsided. It straight up disappeared as they were about to hold hands for a prolonged time, and in plain view. He thought the world would swallow him whole, that a dark pit in his stomach might eat up his intestines. Nothing bad happens. Washio keeps his chin up, his chest bold and proud, and his fingers curved besides Akinori.

And Akinori doesn’t feel like doing anything else, either. He starts up a conversation about a show Washio has been into and he’s been interested about. Notebook secrets, untouchable hair, and the place of today’s date completely wiped off his mind.

When he’s with Washio, Akinori can be without worries.

 

*

 

*

 

Akinori feels a new hefty presence make itself at home behind the bars of his ribcage. The odd sensations of a crush turning into liking, and the liking turning into a heavier, hotter, and less sensible thing he didn’t dare name yet, had the nerve to level up once more.

Looking away from the amazing sight on the roof top Washio had brought him, Akinori eyes the smug man himself. He glances back at the spacious roof, where a single table stood readied for lunch, accompanied by two comfortable looking chairs. Akinori watches the two hosts, here to listen to their beck and call. Their presence was even more unbelievable, and Akinori looked back out over the city. His hands clench the railing.

“You don’t like it?” Washio asks, his chest leaning against the back of Akinori’s arm. Akinori leans over the balcony, looking down at the millions of people, the cacophony of sound, not believing he’s standing at the height of a building watching over it all, not feeling part of them in the slightest. He doesn’t need to know how and why Washio got him to such a fancy place which allows two teenagers to have an intimate dinner for two.

The setting is just too unbelievable, and Akinori looks back again to check it’s just for them. Just for him.

His jaw had slackened when Washio lead him by the hand past a busy inside restaurant, up the stairs, and followed him through a door held open by one of those penguins. Not a foul word had followed them.

“I, eh.” Sure, Fukuroudani academy was a high class power school. Not everyone got in, and almost every family name was linked to large companies, and sometimes larger bank accounts. Akinori, together with Komi and Akaashi, came from a family with comfortable funds, but they weren’t that high class income families. He’d never thought Washio’s family was loaded.

“I saved up for this,” Washio mumbles into his ear, once again able to read minds. Akinori feels like it’s becoming hard to breath this high up, and his hands loose the railing in favour to find Washio’s ready hold-able, and so much more steadier hands.

“We’re not together that long…”

“No… but I. I knew I’d confess to you in April. I’ve liked you a long time before, Akinori.” Washio murmurs, and it sparks the interest in Akinori to know for just how long that was. Washio had never been able to tell a clear date when he knew he liked Akinori. Surely the notebook would know...

“Y-yeah. You said.” Akinori glances over the large Tokyo capital. Washio could have brought him to any ordinary place. Any joint that served burgers, fries, and a coke.

 _Tatsuki_ could have done so, but decided that no ordinary place would do.

“Tatsuki…” Akinori murmurs, his head feeling light. His back falls against Tatsuki’s chest, who readily takes that weight too. “It’s uhm. It’s really awesome.”

Tatsuki kisses his head, better reachable than the neck. Their hands joined, Tatsuki folds his and Akinori’s arms over the chest.

“Do you want to stay..?”

“Yes,” Akinori blurts out, looking up to Tatsuki. He hates the insecurity in that voice, the fear and lack of confidence. Akinori has to eradicate it fast. “Yes, it’s really cool! I am just shocked you went to such trouble just for me.”

Huffing a warm smile into Akinori’s hair, Tatsuki’s mouth and nose brush over the ash blond strands. “Nothing is too troubling if it’s for you. I originally planned this as our first date and confess to you here, but it felt a little over the top.”

“You can say that, yeah.” Akinori laughs, leaning more at ease into Tatsuki’s embrace. He feels better now, more grounded. Tokyo looks beautiful in this warm summer’s day, and summer vacation is just around the corner. “I do like it here,”

“Thanks, I’m glad-”

“And I really do love you, Tatsuki.” Akinori looks up as much as he can, his crown sliding down Tatsuki’s collarbone and the top of his chest.

“That feeling is once again mutual, Akinori.”

 

*

 

*

 

Defiant and on the edge of having his irritation stir turn into a whirlpool of hissing and scratches, Akinori looks up to Tatsuki in order to make the guy currently inching into him, stop eying him the way he does. It has been a thing since the very first time, at which Akinori had been too flustered to even say anything responsible.

Back then, Akinori had hidden himself into the pillows of Tatsuki’s bed, and turned around into another position. Right now he finds himself sitting half up, his legs clenched around Tatsuki’s well-trained sides. They had kissed and undressed, tracking sweet spots known and unknown to be sensitive until they were naked. Akinori hadn’t voiced any complaints about lying on his back, or being pulled into a sitting position when Tatsuki prepared him. It was when the kisses stopped and Tatsuki had to concentrate entering him that the misery started.

Right from the beginning, Tatsuki, for some reason unknown to Akinori, had the habit to stare his laser-beaming-like eyes into Akinori’s red face. Whenever they had sex, he would stare, never not looking away and hardly closing his eyes. There might be a flutter in the eyelashes when a thrust felt incomparable good or when Akinori would deign himself to moan Tatsuki’s name, but that was about it. The closed lids were only a thing Tatsuki would come. The worst would be whenever Tatsuki came first; Akinori’s delight of watching him close his eyes lasted as long as the orgasm, because Tatsuki would resume staring afterwards, until Akinori’s pleasure would come to a climax as well.

On top of the constant eye contact initiated by Tatsuki, he would also refrain from making sounds louder than the few grunts appearing when he’d orgasm. It drove Akinori to the edge, but not in the good sense of the word.

“Goddammit…” Akinori hisses, pressing his own lids shut. Tatsuki leans forward. One of his bare arms already held Akinori, and now a second one looped to the top, a hand covering Akinori’s head to check if he was okay. Akinori didn’t mind that parts of those fingers had just been inside of him moments earlier.

Tatsuki’s worry seems to be a constant when they have sex, as neither were experienced or confident enough to do it without thinking about the other’s pleasure and if they were being satisfactory. At least Akinori hoped he wasn’t the only one who lacked sexual confidence at times. It made him feel better. Tatsuki seemed so sure of himself most times, but would falter under a burdensome weight whenever Akinori displayed discomfort in the initial stages of having sex. When the silent touch did nothing to make Akinori speak, Tatsuki makes his concern vocal.

“Are you okay, Akinori?”

“Nghh-hn. Just move, you big- Ah!” Akinori cries out, his nails scratching at Tatsuki’s arms. At the first sound of command, Tatsuki actually moves, not letting Akinori finish calling him out. His mouth opens alright, but it's either to let strangled moans out, or silent gasps. He’s rendered speechless, and can only tighten every part of his body connected to Tatsuki, whose hot breath ghosts over Akinori’s bangs, moving them across his sweaty forehead. When Tatsuki’s cock is completely inside of him, he pauses, and Akinori knows that those eyes are trying to stare his lids to open up and look back at him. He feels the burn in his eyeballs, and Akinori can’t help but answer the call.

Looking up, he’s irritated all over again. Tatsuki doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything, just stares him into oblivion. His hips are holding back, and the only thing sending off any kind of signals is the throbbing dick buried inside of Akinori. He bites his lips, breathing through his nose, then slaps his hand over Tatsuki’s eyes.

“Stop it already!”

“...I’m not doing anything.”

“Exactly,” Akinori hisses, then moans when Tatsuki moves. As if he was scolding him for being immobile! “You’re- you’re just st-aahaa-ah! -staring at me…”

“Am I not supposed to look at you, then? I don’t say this often as I thought it would make you uncomfortable or flustered but… you’re quite beautiful. What else am I supposed to look at?” Tatsuki mumbles nonsense into Akinori’s ear, and eyelashes fluttering across Akinori’s cheekbone. Speechless, Akinori tenses around Tatsuki’s hips, pushing him with the balls of his feet. He has to bite his bottom lip when a string of curses threaten to release.

“You big dumb- _oh_ , fuck, right there…” Akinori loses all sense of self-control when Tatsuki hits the Good Spot within his depths, and his nails cause a ruckus over the long, sweaty spine. All anger of the stupid things Tatsuki tends to say in his rare romantic moments vaporizes, as the heat intensifies. Akinori starts to moan in earnest, and without holding back. He knows quite well that shutting up or, god forbid, putting his hand over his mouth would gain Tatsuki’s attention.

And the eyes keep staring. Akinori can’t commit to have his own open to save his life, but he feels Tatsuki’s eyes on him. Tatsuki’s hips roll and roll, fucking Akinori to heaven, and he’s quite helpless in moving himself. Tatsuki’s complimentary words ring between Akinori’s ears, and he feels tears of embarrassment and joy tear up on the insides of his eyes.

“Aki.”

“Please don’t stop.” Akinori confesses in a breathy moan, unable to even try and make Tatsuki look elsewhere. When Tatsuki kisses his face, it’s victory enough. When he speeds up his movements, Akinori forgets all other less important emotions, and gives himself up to Tatsuki, and their combined lust.

“I’ll get my revenge… one day.” Akinori sighs, then moans when Tatsuki licks his ear.

“Already looking forward to it…”

 

*

 

*

 

“Tatsuuukiii,” Akinori moans from where he lies limbs wide and thrown apart. His grin cannot keep out of his tone, and his whine sounds too amused. He opens one eye to watch Tatsuki wet his neck with water, then look up from the basin to him. “Tatsuki, I can’t move anymore.” 

He hears the water run into a bottle, a shuffle of feet. Tatsuki’s damp hand lifting his head, and the bottle’s opening pressing to his lips. Making himself comfortable on his boyfriend’s thighs, Akinori takes the water and drinks on his own. He gives Tatsuki a sweet look, thanking him. When the water runs past his mouth, Tatsuki wipes it off. His warm voice tickles the insides of Akinori’s trembling thighs.

“Feeling better?” 

“Not yet,” Akinori sighs, closing his eyes again. He hears Bokuto in the distance, leading away most of their younger charges. From the club room to elsewhere, leaving the two of them here alone. Bokuto hadn’t been much help to Akinori otherwise, and this was his apologizing, his making up. Akinori was glad for every second he could spend alone with Tatsuki, who caresses his hair.

“Anything else I can do for you..?” Tatsuki asks, his wet fingers scratching over Akinori’s scalp. A ton of things come to mind, but Akinori had this planned from the start. His eyes fall sideways to where Tatsuki’s bag lies half open, his bottle taken from it. Komi had given the name of the black notebook Tatsuki carries with him, a Moleskine. The contents however were a secret to Komi as well. Useless just as Bokuto. Smiling, Akinori’s finger reaches up to Tatsuki, running the back of his knuckles over the sharp lines of the face hovering above him.

“Pretty sure I am the one who should be giving. I never said thanks for that amazing dinner on the rooftop.” 

“...You did, Akinori. And you don’t have to do any sort of repayment-”

“But I want to do this for you.” Refreshed from the water, Akinori rolls to his side, and fumbles with Tatsuki’s pants. They’re both dressed in the Fukuroudani track suits, and it's easy to pull the waistband loose off Tatsuki’s hips. Once Akinori’s conviction smooths through Tatsuki’s protest, he sighs and leans back to make it more comfortable for the both of them.

On the half grass, half dirt patch ground. Against the basin they use every day. Next to the gymnasium they’ve been training in since they started high school. One of the places Akinori had on a secret, unwritten list in his head of places where he wanted to have Tatsuki.

“I can never tell what turns you on and what not, but this is fast,” Akinori says without resentment as he holds Tatsuki’s half hard cock in his hand. He dives in nose first, licking the base for starters and working himself up. Ever present, Tatsuki’s hand unfolds over Akinori’s head, encouraging him on without pushing. Tatsuki widens his legs to let Akinori slip in and properly place himself in front. The entire front side of Akinori’s clothes will get dirty from this, but he’s long gone in his lust and want to please Tatsuki to care about the details of appearance. 

“It’s quite easy. If you say you want to do something for me so badly, it turns me on,” Tatsuki breathes out, his lips quick to close and enjoy in silence. Akinori doesn’t mind the game to elicit sounds out of Tatsuki, even if he has been on a losing streak for as long as he tried. Looking up through his lashes as he lowers his lips over the glans of Tatsuki’s dick, he’s not allowed to dwell on the past. 

Humming at the taste and feel of Tatsuki’s hardness while holding his base, Akinori enjoys the little changes in Tatsuki when he comes loose. How fingertips exert the smallest of presses against the back of Akinori’s head, how the deep sighs rumble up in his throat. How the hips inch up and into Akinori’s waiting mouth, given permission by Akinori’s smile and his wanton erotic sounds. Looping both his arms around Tatsuki to hold him, Akinori is not afraid to try sucking him off without using his hands. 

He has the little black notebook in his sights, after all. Tatsuki’s moving brought them both closer to the bag. And Tatsuki, ever the gentleman, isn’t too lazy to help. He holds himself at the base without trying to get himself off, only holding his cock for Akinori to suck in and go down onto. With his other hand he caresses Akinori’s cheek, his breath hitching when it fills up with his hardness. 

“Mhnnnn,” Akinori moans, pleasure overriding his intentions. His priority changes at the little sounds Tatsuki makes, the soft grunts. His bliss becomes more important to Akinori, as he moves his head up and down, taking in as much as he can. When he comes up again, he licks around the top, then whispers. “I wanted to do this all day…” 

It doesn’t take Tatsuki long to come after that. Near the end, Akinori uses his hand again, taking care of the few inches he doesn’t take into his mouth. Tatsuki becomes a shivering mess, but alas a silent one that doesn’t cry out or even say Akinori’s name louder than a short whisper. And when he does, it serves as a warning. One that Akinori welcomes without stopping giving head. Even if Tatsuki is too shy to make noise, the moment his semen hits Akinori’s tongue is enough to make up for it. 

“Th… Thank you, Aki,” Tatsuki gets out in time before Akinori sits up on his knees, lunging himself forward into Tatsuki’s filthy lap. He rams the hard shoulders against the side of the water basin, as he straddles Tatsuki. His intentions are clear, but Tatuski’s hands aren’t quick to follow up what Akinori wants to do. Instead, there’s an apology.

“Sorry, Akinori… I didn’t bring it today. We finished the other lotion, remember? I didn’t replace it yet…”

The bag. The notebook. Akinori’s plan is still in motion. 

“Really?” One hand on Tatsuki’s jaw, Akinori distracts him with a deep kiss. He’s swallowed most of Tatsuki’s come, and some of it sticks to his chin and bottom lip. Tatsuki doesn’t mind, his hunger to respond too fierce, his tongue rolling back against Akinori’s as they start to make out. Akinori’s hand is in Tatsuki’s bag, unguarded, unquestioned, able to rummage through. 

Accidentally, the little notebook falls out. Accidentally, Akinori’s moving feet kick it towards his own bag. 

The movements have him riding against Tatsuki’s cock, his clothed arousal grinding against the uncovered penis. Tatsuki’s hands round Akinori’s ass tight against him, unwilling to undress him still.

“I can take it…” Akinori bluffs, letting Tatsuki lick his throat. He looks behind him, seeing how his hidden work paid off. 

“I’d never hurt you like that,” Tatsuki sighs back, his hands pushing Akinori against him. “It’s regretful that I forgot…” 

Giving him a mind-blowing kiss, Akinori tells him it’s alright. “Let’s go somewhere where we have all the tools then, Tatsuki…” Akinori knows he's bad at flirting, bad at dirty talk. He knows he's blushes too much and that he could at least try to flutter his eyelashes or do anything seductive. But Tatsuki values his honesty more than anything else.

“Your house..?” Tatsuki asks, and Akinori’s nod is quick. 

“Get yourself ready to go,” Akinori huffs in joy, then gets up. While Tatsuki’s busy cleaning himself and pulling his pants up, Akinori squats to gather the little notebook into his bag and hide it deep under his other things. The bulge in his pants is worth it. 

Tatsuki’s arm loop around his torso in one movement, and as they pull, Akinori groans as teeth bite hard into his neck. He buckles under the dominant move, submitting to whatever wrath Tatsuki has in store for him. 

“...It’s really embarrassing.” Tatsuki kisses across the sore spot, and Akinori feels the notebook against his ribs. He took it and Akinori in one stroke. Too fast for the eye, the teeth a better distraction than Akinori could ever wish to perform. 

“But I really want to know everything, Tatsuki.” Akinori smiles, hoping to keep it light. They fall back, Akinori landing in Tatsuki’s lap once more, a softer version of it. “C’mon, I’m too curious. And I won’t stop wanting to find out.” 

“Insufferable,” Tatsuki huffs against his forehead, kissing it. 

“Insatiable.” Akinori replies, his hands over Tatsuki’s arms. “How about this; in return, I tell you all the things I have in mind for us. The mild and the erotic. Doing it here was only one of the things…” 

Tatsuki’s hawk eyes look forward to the gym. His eyes glassy as a vision rises. “Really… I had pictured us there…”

Akinori looks towards the locked doors, and grumbles. Once again he suffers under Bokuto who had taken the keys. He then bumps his head against Tatsuki’s shoulder to get his attention. He has to thump against it a few times before Tatsuki even looks downt. A kiss under the jaw works its final magic.

“What..?” 

“Let me borrow it,” Akinori demands almost, holding out his hand while keeping eye contact with Tatsuki. The sleek notebook falls into his waiting hand at long last.

“...Fine. But I don’t take responsibilities for the consequences…”

“What, you mean me falling in love more? Tough luck,” Akinori giggles, his arousal flying away as mirth shakes his body against Tatsuki’s chest. He feels the ease return and the heart soften under the weight, and Tatsuki smiles back at him. 

“So, about _your_ deep and dark secrets…” Tatsuki starts, but let's Akinori go when he stands up. 

“I’ll tell you once we got our hands on lubrication. C’mon, big guy,” he helps Tatsuki stand, then looks down on himself and the mess. Groaning, he zips his jacket shut to cover most of the dirty patches on his shirt. Tatsuki kisses the back of his ear as they begin to walk.

“I’ll reimburse you for the trouble.”

They both know it's not needed. And as before, Akinori knows there’s no stopping it either.


	3. Overload

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Konoha will find out that curiosity can kill a whole lot.  
> His blush won't fade, and reading Washio's notebooks gives him more than he bargained for. 
> 
> And Washio? Washio is happy about everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD. I started this fic end of March, 2016. Worked hard on it and decided to publish end of January, 2018.
> 
> Given that this rare pair is so ultra rare... I didn't really had a lot of readers and decided to prioritize other ships/fics (as is the norm). BUT!! Comments go such a long way, and after receiving one, I decided to sit on it and finish it kandkakjdnjksd
> 
> God Akinori is so easy to write. I had to push myself to write Washio pov, because I wouldn’t have otherwise????????
> 
> Also yeah, after receiving my first comment on this fic, I felt so motivated to finish this ;; Most of my fics nowadays get finished/worked on because either the stars align and I write the intended ero scenes, or like, in this case, I choose to just ditch the ero stuff entirely djajkdjdkasjk sorry about that. This story was supposed to get kinky and heated… but now I just implied to it~~~ //runs away//
> 
> Anyway!! This is a super small ship and I may not write for it anytime soon (SO MANY RARESHIPS. So little time). I hope to get back to them once season 4 airs!!

Akinori didn’t know that one could reach level 100 on embarrassment in a single night. Within 30 minutes, his cheeks were glowing red and there was no sign of cooling off. He is sure not even a cold shower could help him now or bring relief. Steam must come off him in waves, as if he has been in the hottest onsen for too long a time. Soul shifting, he believes it might have just left his body through one of the many exhales. No one could have known, or would have seen that strange occurrence.

Because behind the stark exterior and the silent disposition of one Washio Tatsuki, there had been so much romance hiding away. So many insecurities, spelled out in neat writing. Akinori cannot take his eyes off the words spelling out a pining, which Akinori could have not believed possible for one single teenager.

The first notebook starts off with random bits, no organization, and a lot of self doubt. Soon to be usurped by goals and wishes; Tatsuki had written what he wants to do and work on, how strong he wanted to become, the end term goals for the next three years at high school. Small goals, like becoming better at blocking. Big goals, such as being a team regular at some point.

Half way through the first year, somewhere in notebook no. 2, Tatsuki started to write about the volleyball team in more detail. Small things Akinori had forgotten that happened. He must have been so blind as a first year, to not even have sensed any of this. Putting a hand on the lower part of his face, Akinori skims through notebook after notebook, finding that his name and sketches of him become more and more frequent. They're small interludes. 

Akinori had forgotten, but he had lain his futon next to Tatsuki, and used him as a barrier against Bokuto and Komi.

_’Konoha-kun is a social person but at the end of the day, he likes to have his peace. He stood up for me when after three days of training and extra individual training, Bokuto-kun kept extending our individual sessions. I don’t mind blocking for him and the others. But Konoha-kun said we were young and needed our rest. I also noticed he couldn’t keep up with the blocks, so I wonder if he just wanted a friend to take it easy with. Not that he’s weak in any way. Konoha-kun certainly shines in every position he plays, and doesn’t hesitate to chase balls. He’s not a man to be taken lightly.’_

The embarrassment has gone full throttle as Akinori continues, opening the fourth notebook at some point. Tatsuki wrote about Akinori more than about any of the others. Sometimes even filling a page or two.

_’Konoha-kun is by no means less talented than others, or lazy. Someone said that during training camp. "Konoha's lazy". I got mad about it… Not that I said anything. But I think the person knew he spoke too loud in my presence, and quickly ran off. I believe Akinori will become an all-round player, and become valuable to the team one day.’_

Without skipping a page, Akinori turns them with care. Smiling, it's as if the sketches of him doing so infect him. How blind he’s been, to not have noticed it sooner. To not know how looked after and cared for he was.

_’The coaches said that with my height and game sense, I can become a regular soon. I have yet to work on my jumping… I never had to jump this high before. But the Shinzen third year spikers get past my hands. Konoha-kun doesn’t like the block practice we have to do, and he hates block follows the most. Today he took more rests than usual. His stamina isn’t up par with Bokuto-kun, but then again, few can. I think I’ll invite Konoha-kun to the in-school gym sometime.  
At least, I wish I could. If I had the guts to ask him. It would be nice to have us two alone…’_

“You idiot… I’d totally would have said yes to you and you only!” Akinori hisses at the past Tatsuki, his written words.

_’Goals: befriend Komi-kun (dislikes ‘too’ tall people, simultaneously understands their necessity)_  
_block Bokuto-kun 3 times in a row, 10 times in total in a single match_  
_ask Konoha-kun to hang out together; act like it's for his own good.’_

Week after week, Tatsuki had had written about his experiences during club activities, school performance, what he wanted to accomplish. Between personal training regimes and re-written goals, nutritional facts and wondering about protein supplements, Akinori found tidbits of information about himself. The good he liked and disliked, what kind of personality he had. How he dealt with different things. All observed and meticulously noted by Tatsuki.

_’Despite the best efforts, Konoha didn’t make it onto the team. He snapped at me when I Ftold him these exact words: “Konoha-kun, work hard this year. Continue to grow and you will reap the awards.” He told me to drop the suffix and stop preaching. That those who made the team even as a bench member had no right talking to those who haven’t made it yet (his words). He seemed upset that training focuses more on the growth of the new team…_

_I am equally upset that he’s angry with me. Usually his irritation flares and dies out like a quick flame. I hope I can make amends by inviting him to Bokuto’s private training sessions in the other gym.’_

The pang of guilt faded as soon as Tatsuki became more honest with his feelings. It faded into nonexistence, traded in for the embarrassment that courses through Akinori at the moment. Tatsuki, used to write about anything and everything, even spend time on drawings more so than just quick sketches or doodles. Here Akinori notices the first of colourful art pieces Tatsuki did. There were pages full of them; Akinori in the library reading, walking ahead of a group of people to the convenience store, Akinori had never given those sketches Tatsuki made walking much thought, given he thought he was simply writing…

After the art came the onslaught of Tatsuki’s desires and dreams. His own guilt and shame on the pages when he woke from feverish hot dreams, thinking of Akinori… The barriers that held his most deepest needs only lowered to his own self in the morning. And at night.

Here, Akinori’s eyes go up to the heavens, the heat of his cheeks too much. Staring at Tatsuki’s room ceiling, he knows he got himself to thank. He had wanted to know so badly. And now he did. Muffling the little sounds his throat, he looks back down, then closes his eyes again. The dreams Tatsuki had were lewd, and he wrote in detail about them. There lists of sexual nature, of what he wanted to do with Akinori.

Akinori hadn’t noticed _anything_. Not even now, when Tatsuki renewed vows of things he now could attempt to ask. But he never did. Whatever they experiment together, was a mix of soft, gentle, and finding what turns them on, what works. 

Yet Tatsuki keeps entire lists and hidden scenarios in his last notebook, things he hadn’t told Akinori. And Akinori had been warned about it beforehand. Still, he made Tatsuki leave his own room just now, to read.

And it was time to go home, too. They had decided that, once Akinori has read the diaries, he'd leave. 

 

Downstairs, Tatsuki helps his mother prepare tomorrow’s lunch. When she sees him, Tatsuki’s mother breaks into a smile, but doesn’t say anything. She simply leaves her son to cutting vegetables. Nodding to himself once she’s out of the kitchen, Akinori sneaks, making sure Tatsuki can hear him before kissing his boyfriend’s neck. 

“I’ll uh… I should get going. Should we..?”

“Talk about it another time? Sure,” Tatsuki says, not pausing in his work. 

Akinori leaves, glad now his deep red blush won’t be noticed in the evening.

 

*

 

*

 

It’s like being confessed to all over again. Except the difference, which Akinori finds it significant, is that he’s not the one fantasizing about this or that. He thinks about what Tatsuki fantasized about. The things he wrote about.

Crossing his arms, Akinori brings the palm of his hand to cover his face. He looks away from the teacher in front, and crosses his legs for good measure, too. The world Tatsuki painted on the pages of his notebook, which he’s kept hidden and suppressed. Together, the two of them hadn’t even covered half of those fantasies. Akinori didn’t know how to feel about it. He wasn’t supposed to know those secrets in the first place, or at least, Tatsuki hadn’t shared them before Akinori used his charm. 

Curiosity killed the cat, as they say. Well Akinori’s stomach was truly turning as if curiosity had killed it. 

Deciding that he cannot let his mind wander, and that agonizing over it won’t get him anywhere, Akinori writes down a plan. He will go to Tatsuki’s house after school, when they’re free from club. That’s it. 

_Great plan…_ Akinori thinks, but knows that writing down anything beyond that would be pointless. Club practices have been grueling already, and Akinori had sort of kept his distance from his boyfriend, who didn’t pressure him. But this was no way to live a man’s life, and Akinori would be damned to be kept apart from his own needs. 

 

*

 

*

 

Tatsuki’s mother lets him in easily enough. Akinori waves down offers of beverages and even a cookie. Trying to be not too nervous, he walks up to Tatsuki’s room. 

Today had been relaxed. Club practice only in the morning, afternoon off for rest. Tomorrow there's a practice match, after all. Breathing out in front of Tatsuki’s bedroom door, Akinori considers knocking. He might be napping, the mother had said. 

It’s true, too. When Akinori walks in without knocking, he finds Tatsuki in a pose Akinori remembers all too well from training camp, or more accurately, from the bedtime at those camps. Tatsuki lies on his back, straight as a candle. His hands are linked on top of his chest. He’s so still that Akinori has to concentrate to notice the gentle rise and fall of Tatsuki’s ribs. 

Closing the door behind him without making a sound, Akinori inches forward on his socks. There’s not much room for him to lie on, so he kneels besides Tatsuki’s bed, watching him. Sighing, he says the words which have been running in his head for some days now.

“I read your notebooks, all of them. And uh… I wouldn’t mind doing some of the stuff you wanted to do for such a long time,” Akinori says, feeling lighter. Now he just needs to repeat it when Tatsuki is awake. 

 

*

 

*

 

“That’s good to hear.”

Akinori rolls back. When Tatsuki opens his eyes and looks to his side, surprise propelled Akinori on his upper back, feet kicking in the air. As he watches, Akinori slowly rolls further away, bringing his feet back on the ground and his body to his hands and knees.

“Waaaah, don’t scare me like that! I thought you were having one of your naps!”

“I know that, too,” Tatsuki says, keeping a laugh from forming on his lips. Sitting up, he watches Akinori do the same, straightening his back. He seems thoroughly tousled, a faint glow on his cheek. A look Tatsuki likes more than he could say. He wrote all about it, but being together with Akinori opens a path to actual experiences. They took it slow, at times, when they remember to go slow.

“Damn, okay. Okay but… why did you never mention any of it earlier?” 

Gazing over Akinori’s head to the row of small black notebooks, Tatsuki finds himself stilling in motion. “For the same reason you turn red. I’m embarrassed, sometimes. Of the things I would like to try.” 

Akinori grins, coming to sit next to him. Tatsuki nods. His blond hair is straight once more, and he puts a hand on Tatsuki’s thigh. 

“Right, we’re taking it in whatever pace we feel like. _Anyway_ , that still doesn’t explain how you want to be vocal with me! You’re near-mute the couple of times we really go at it. I was concerned!”

Tatsuki laughs, his shoulders lighter. He pulls Akinori into a one-armed side hug, and kisses his temple. 

“I’m actually very loud when I’m all by myself. Wanna see?” Tatsuki says, feeling Akinori turn warm under his lips. There’s a nod, and fingers already on Tatsuki’s pants. No hesitance. Tatsuki kisses him first, brushing over the face before heading to the mouth. They embrace a little more deeply, moving to settle Tatsuki on his back with Akinori hovering over him.

“Now, I have to do this too… No holding back, alright?” Akinori says, face less red, voice more serious. Tatsuki nods, lifting his hips to allow Akinori to strip him. 

“What about you?” Tatsuki asks, wanting to show he wouldn’t mind getting his hands dirty. Akinori grins.

“It’s pleasurable to make you come, especially knowing you’re not gonna hold out on me. I’m going to go enjoy this a lot.”

It’s rare for Tatsuki to get flustered, but he looks to the side nonetheless. Closing his eyes, and putting his arms to his sides once Akinori makes it physically known that Tatsuki doesn’t have to engage the slightest, he simply drifts. Akinori’s hands push his pants down, his shirts up, caressing the flesh as it appears. Kissing the sides, to the center, and further below. 

And for once, Tatsuki doesn’t hold back a single sound. 

 

*

 

*

 

They’re making out afterwards. Tatsuki putting his all into it, to make Akinori shut up. Lying on their sides, arms around each other, Akinori would not stop about Tatsuki’s voice. He describes it as velvet, saying the deepness of it made him hard earlier. Tatsuki had sucked Akinori off afterwards, and they considered what other parts they could try out. But then Akinori had to open his big mouth and make Tatsuki more flustered than before. 

His kissing style tends to be all over the place when Tatsuki gets like this. Nothing could shake him, normally. He trails Akinori’s lips, goes to the ears, making sure Akinori’s blush doesn’t fade. He doesn’t say a word, however. Teasing comes in form of nibbles, and Akinori isn’t allowed to catch his breath or complain. 

Akinori’s legs are long but Tatsuki has always been taller. So Akinori’s foot only reaches his ankle at best. He's stroking Tatsuki’s leg. Pulling up Akinori’s leg, Tatsuki hooks it over his own hip, his fingers staying on the soft side of that knee. They're even closer than before, which intensifies the heat between. Akinori grins.

"Sooo, you're a leg type of guy?" When talking about girls, Tatsuki has heard guys talk about being breast, stomach, or legs type. Even behinds were points of interest. In his notebook, Tatsuki had detailed how he liked so many things about Akinori, but of course the part about the legs is the one Akinori now teases him on. 

“Hush, no words from you,” Tatsuki says, kissing into a laughing Akinori. It was a bit unfair, given that Akinori had told Tatsuki how much he loved to touch his arms. Akinori does it now too, caressing Tatsuki’s elbow and keeping them close. He then runs his hands over Tatsuki’s shoulders and back.

“Hmmm, but then how would I express how much I love all of this..?” Akinori smiles, kissing Tatsuki’s throat. 

"I don't know," Tatsuki says, grinning himself now too. 

They stay like this for a while, heat slowing down. Tatsuki figures that, given that Akinori had read it all anyway, he could just as well say it out loud. After all, Akinori likes him vocal…

"I like your legs, Akinori. Your hips, your thighs, your knees—"

"Keh, that's random," Akinori laughs softly onto Tatsuki’s chin, who wasn’t done yet. Being made so comfortable and at ease, whatever he hadn’t dared to mention before, flows out of him.

"—your hands, elbows, the soft nooks and crannies." Tatsuki leans down towards Akinori’s neck, kissing it as much as he can reach. Closing his eyes, he lets his body’s rigidness fade away against Akinori’s pliable body, unafraid of being laid bare, or making sounds. When Akinori talks, encouraging him to go on, there’s no hint of embarrassment left between them. When he names the body parts, Tatsuki tracks them with care. 

"Your neck, your face. Mhn, I guess I’m a Konoha type of guy," Tatsuki finishes, a sheepish smile on his features

Akinori smiles, not finding it too sappy. 

"Heeeh, I'm very happy to hear that." 

He leans his forehead to Tatsuki’s collarbone, arms looping around the wide back to hug him tight. Tatsuki may have the looks of a tough guy, but he's all goo when it comes to cuddles. Knowing Akinori appreciates his arms, he returns the tight hug, without crushing him the slightest. 

"I really like you, Akinori." He makes sure to look at him as he says it. Not to hide behind a wall anymore, or indeed, a notebook.

"Yeah, same, Tatsuki." 

 

*

 

*

 

They’re walking down a street in the late summery afternoon. Both smell of sweat, without stinking. It’s the kind that Tatsuki doesn't call ‘sweat’ but the ‘smell of hard work’. Shirt sleeves rolled up to their elbows, both had ventured into the first convenience store they found on a mostly shared road home. Akinori for a milk tea pack, Tatsuki to escape the heat for 5 blissful minutes. 

Whenever Akinori looks up to Tatsuki, the latter turns his head over his boyfriend’s head to something entirely else. Tatsuki likes to take in the world around him. Eager to notice changes and comment on those. 

It appears this displeases Akinori, who would like Tatsuki to look more at him. 

‘Oh, sorry. Did you want to ask something?” Tatsuki says, watching Akinori’s brows rise.

Eyes down, Akinori manoeuvres his feet closer to Tatsuki, and bumps into him with his arm and elbow. His arm meets the hard side of Tatsuki’s body, and the fabrics of their uniform rustle. Akinori isn’t tripping, and this is not a shoujo moment where he’s clumsy. Eyes fluttering up, Tatsuki wishes he could find a subject matter as light and breezy as a spring day, but they shut close.

He wasn’t tripping. But Tatsuki’s arms snakes around Akinori’s back nonetheless. It’s a solid, unquestionable move, and it brings Akinori closer. Chest to chest, Tatsuki made it so he cannot look away. Akinori falls into a rare moment where he doesn’t blink, and his silence becomes as unwavering as Tatsuki usually is. Akinori once called him an ‘unblinking devil’. 

Overcome by this behaviour, Tatsuki wishes to disarm it. He dips his head down, staying like that for a few seconds. Akinori freezes. They’re in the middle of the aisle. People come and go, but no one ventures their way. And even if Tatsuki towers over everything else, the rest don’t. Lips tingle as Akinori’s tongue rolls over them once, hands roaming over the covered part of Tatsuki’s arms. Unable to move away from Akinori is probably all the boy needed as permission. His hand runs over Tatsuki’s neck, pulling him down. The fingers stay there, caressing him, as their kiss deepens for a second.

When Tatsuki opens his eyes again, his lips feeling empty of the hot touch that just penetrated everything, he finds Akinori’s cocky eyes staring at him.

“No more shyness, remember?” Akinori says, and they part when they hear noises closing in on them. Tatsuki nods as girls from another school around the corner to their aisle, looking for packed nuts. Pushing Akinori aside in a gentle manner, Tatsuki makes eye contact with one of the girls, about to gesture to the nut section he and Akinori stood in front of.

The girls however, run away, and Akinori laughs.

“Well done! Now we have the space for ourselves again. Although,” Akinori continues in a whisper. “we should carry this on at the riverbank maybe. There’s a place I found the other day and it uh… fits your wish list of doing stuff in the open.”

Tatsuki cannot believe his luck. Akinori displays a condom hidden in his pocket, and there’s a very light flush to his cheeks. Smiling, he nods. Akinori buys them both refreshments, and some snacks for ‘later’. Giving him a kiss on the forehead as they outside on a mostly empty road, Tatsuki’s hand doesn’t leave Akinori’s shoulder. 

He could not have been happier at the outcome of opening up about his feelings.


End file.
